


Harbor

by Averia



Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Anger Management, Anterograde Amnesia, Bruce Wayne Tries, Codependency, Depression, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Head Injury, Ric Grayson doesn't exist, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29397597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Averia/pseuds/Averia
Summary: “Next time,” Bruce promises as he does every night. “We’ll go out on patrol next time.”
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51
Collections: BruDick Week 2021





	Harbor

**Author's Note:**

> Bruce isn’t in a great place. Dick’s psyche is fragile. If you need any concrete warnings, please click on “more notes” below.
> 
> Late entry for **BruDick Week 2021 Day 4:** _Recovery/Injuries/Wounds_

It's Bane and KGBeast and Bane and Selina and Bane and his father until it's not. The world simply stops turning, screeches to a halt as soon as Bruce accomplishes what he _must_ before Gotham truly and utterly falls apart.

Head in his hands, only the cowl pushed back, Bruce tries to breathe and can’t. The weight has lifted off his shoulders after endless weeks of destruction and pain, but it’s simply not enough.

Bane is gone. His father is dead. KGBeast has been hunted, and imprisoned, and punched to a pulp. Selina has returned - a helping hand in the turbulent sea of darkness that he always, _always_ gets caught in. But he can’t bear to see her as more than another shadow in the night. The time they spend together is a bitter memory now. No sweetness of their days remains. Their perfect dream couldn't last. Deep down, they knew it wouldn’t.

Bruce remembers how he sat at this very same spot weeks ago, just days after their supposed marriage, ready to break as he is breaking now while the same fluorescent blue shone upon him.

A howling cry boils up his throat, fingers curling. Bruce half smothers the sound, bites at the Kevlar gloves to hold the unbearable rage and regret at bay. Because weeks ago, he could let the tears flow, could turn around because Dick was there. A hand on his knee. A smile in his gentle voice. A connection to the light of the world. His hope.

There is no one here now. Alfred is gone, killed thanks to the father he so desperately wanted to trust. Damian is with the Titans, brought there kicking and screaming by a stone-faced Tim. Jason… he forced to leave. And Dick? Dick hasn’t been in the cave ever since that fateful rainy night.

Another failed attempt to breathe through leaves him lightheaded as he pushes out of the chair, his voice barely steady enough to instruct the bat-computer to turn on standby. The cape creeps heavily down his shoulders, drags behind him, catching on the smooth cave floor. Hands seem to grasp at the fabric, try to keep him in the darkness where his misery lies and his troubles fester. 

It should be easy to pull the cape off, but it isn’t. Without it, Bruce feels too cold, too vulnerable. Incomplete. Like no man at all.

By the time he steps into Dick’s bedroom, the first glow of daylight brightens the sky. His tired gaze trails over Dick, who has settled into the old armchair, well-used Sudoku booklet in hand. A ruse Bruce crafted himself. It’s a sight Bruce is unnervingly familiar with by now.

“You should be asleep.”

The fast-moving pen halts. Dick's eyebrow ticks up and doesn't lower. His judging glance says it all.

“You broke your promise, you mean.”

Despite the less than welcome words, Dick’s gaze sweeps over the armor he is still wearing, something grim passing over his face. Dick marks the page with his pen. It’s always the same page, every damn day. There is never any improvement.

“You should have taken me with you tonight,” Dick goes on carefully as if he thinks Bruce might rather flee than have this conversation. Bruce can’t deny that he would be brushing him off under normal circumstances.

Dick waits for words and heaves a heavy sigh when none come, shoulders moving visibly and gaze rising to the ceiling in tense-jawed frustration before he moves out of the armchair. Once, the show of annoyance would have sat his own teeth on edge in return, guilt and regret hiding behind an explosive force of misplaced anger.

“It’s not that I don’t understand. I know you need some time alone.”

Dick looks at him from the bookshelf, Sudoku back at its place. His voice turns teasing, corners of his lips pulling up. “Surely, the hug was simply too much for you.” 

Bruce relaxes, absurdly relieved; breaths easily for the very first time in too many hours. The cape flows across the dark wood and the expensive carpet as he steps fully into the room, propelling him on. Dick’s smile never fails to claw down the walls or unlock the chains. Sometimes it makes things worse but often it doesn’t.

“Next time,” Bruce promises as he does every night. “We’ll go out on patrol next time.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Mr. Glum and Gloomy,” Dick replies with an even broader grin, stepping near him. Bruce knows Dick won’t hold him to it. Not the way he thinks right here right at this moment.

His gaze traces the lines of Dick’s face. His cheekbones have grown more pronounced over the past weeks. They are doing their best, but, without Alfred, no one quite knows how to handle Dick’s state. Just by looking at him, Bruce knows he is failing all over again.

He is so sick of causing Dick to suffer.

“If you’re staying here, you should at least take some of the armor off, B. Alfred'll have your hide anyway, but he doesn’t have to be disappointed in me too.”

No armor in the manor, especially not in the private rooms. Two of the rules Alfred established very early on. He has been ignoring a lot of them lately even though he doesn’t wish to. It’s disrespectful toward the stern and dry-humored man he always saw as a father, but Bruce is too worn out to hold himself to Alfred’s high standards.

Breathing and fighting – _surviving_ – is difficult enough.

When he doesn’t move, Dick’s smile falters, attentive eyes taking in his expression, undoubtedly noting the dark eye circles Bruce painstakingly covers each morning to evade the questions they would raise. He tries to avoid all scrutiny, but Dick’s is far from uncomfortable. It’s the same soft-eyed concern Dick showed to him all those weeks ago.

“I know you loved her, Bruce,” Dick whispers, “but you have to let it go.”

Bruce’s shoulders tense, barely, but Dick notices. Of course, he does.

The words should mean nothing to him anymore. He hears a variation of them every night, but they still make him want to scream and tell Dick to face what his mind won’t let him. He wants Dick to know about Alfred’s death and Thomas Wayne and all the other ruin Bane’s crusade left behind. So much has happened that far exceeds what Selina did, but the last time he selfishly backed Dick into a corner to shout at him, he broke Dick even more.

Bruce will never forget the tears, the shaking, and the hours of stillness that followed his violent outburst. He’ll never forgive himself either. Leslie and Barbara certainly never will. He knows if Barbara could force him to let go, she would take Dick into her care instead. The Birds would help her. Everyone would.

“Okay,” Dick mumbles. “Okay, I get it. I will…,” Dick trails off, hesitating when Bruce closes his eyes. There is nothing Bruce can give to make their interactions easier, all he could say would only make it worse.

“I’ll take the cape off first,” Dick tells him quietly, and after a moment longer, fingers brush against his shoulders, remain there to tighten ever so slightly. Then Dick begins to unclasp the sturdy fabric, stepping around him slowly. The heavy Kevlar slides off with a rush of cold air, rustles when Dick folds it up. 

Dick lets no grime nor blood brush against their hands as he deftly pulls the gauntlets off. Bruce only feels just how much they truly ache once they are gently guided back to his side.

A click later, the utility belt opens too, pouches falling off his hips. 

It’s when Dick steps away to place the armor and utensils onto the windowsill that Bruce opens his eyes again, watching him arrange the gear in the same tidy way Alfred used to do.

“Whatever it is you aren’t telling me, it’ll be alright,” Dick promises as he brushes out the wrinkles in the cape, sure gaze piercing into him through the reflection of the window.

Bruce isn’t strong enough to deny the words, says nothing when Dick returns to his side.

Ever so gently, Dick brushes their hands together, always careful not to push too far. Bruce’s fingers curl against the warm skin, but he doesn’t squeeze properly, too afraid to change what he is fated to lose the second Dick closes his eyes.

“I’ve got you,” Dick assures him, hand cupping his cheek, and Bruce relaxes further, weight almost falling into Dick’s hands.

**Author's Note:**

> (Mention of a past brief reactive psychosis after Bruce screams at Dick. Everything else can be found in the tags.)


End file.
